


What If

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Established Relationship, Grumpy Young Men, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: Twenty years before the events of Mass Effect, Zaeed Massani got himself nearly dead. Commander Steven Hackett isn't happy about it. Not. At. All.
Relationships: Steven Hackett/Zaeed Massani
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21
Collections: Spectre Requisitions 2020





	What If

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Junker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junker/gifts).



The only sounds in the room are the soft blips of the heart monitor and the quiet stream of air in and out of the ventilator. Steven Hackett rests his forehead in his hands, his fingers curled in his hair, staring at the stark white tile floor as minutes turn slowly into an hour. His back aches in the awkward forward-leaning position, but he feels frozen. The only other thing of any interest to look at in the room is the man laying in the bed, half his face wrapped in gauze and the other half looking worn and worried, even in a drugged-induced sleep. Hackett had stopped watching him sleep. He had to stop watching or he’d go mad.

Restless, he flings himself up and turns to stare out the window, looking out over the clear water reservoir of the Presidium from the twenty-first floor of Huerta Memorial Hospital. He watches the traffic speed past, the synchronized patterns somewhat calming to his racing mind as he stares. He loses track of time, unconsciously standing at ease, letting the sound of the monitor and the traffic lull him gratefully into a sort of trance. Keeps him from thinking. Keeps him from fuming.

“This ain’t Omega.” The gruff voice startles Hackett out of his reverie and he turns to see one green eye open and glaring directly at him.

Hackett’s heart thuds in his chest and all the things—all the ‘What If’s’—come rushing back in one overwhelming surge. He’s so angry at Zaeed. So fucking angry.

And so fucking relieved he’s alive.

He stomps forward in large, tile-covering steps. At Zaeed’s bedside before he can even think, leaning over him, taking his bandage-wrapped face gently in his hands, covering Zaeed’s lips with his own and kissing him as hard as he dares, for as long as he dares.

“Goddamn, Commander Hackett,” Zaeed breathes out on a sigh when Hackett’s lips finally leave his, “Add getting shot in the face to your kink list.”

Hackett growls at the joke, breaking away and stepping back. “You fucking—” He struggles for a word strong enough to express his anger, comes up short. A list of words will have to do. “Idiot. Asshole. Motherfucking dickwad. Goddamn piece of shitty pyjak bollocks. What the fuck, Zaeed? I fucking told you not to trust Santiago—”

“Steven—”

“And if you fucking think I find this—” he waves at Zaeed’s body laying in the bed “—at all sexy you are goddamn fucking delusional!”

“It was just a joke,” Zaeed grumbles, but has the grace to at least look somewhat chagrined.

Steven points at Zaeed, his finger shaking in fury. “Nearly dying is not a goddamn joke! Doctors putting your face back together isn’t a joke! _Losing your eye isn’t a joke._ If you weren’t nearly dead, I’d kick your goddamn ass out that bed, down the hall, and out _a fucking window_ , you absolute _twat waffle_!”

“Twat what?—”

“You heard me.” He turns back to the window, fists clenched so tight he wonders if he’ll ever be able to unclench them. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. The better to pound Zaeed into a pulp later.

The room grows quiet again except for the machine’s regular pulsing beeps. It’s quiet for so long he wonders if Zaeed has passed out, but he refuses to look, instead imagining a myriad of ways to kick Zaeed Massani’s ass.

“You brought me here?” Zaeed asks, his voice quiet in the still air.

Hackett takes a long, deep breath. And then another and another, trying to calm his shaking body. “I did,” his voice is stiff, nearly sticking in his throat. “God only knows what those Omega doctors would have done to you. They did reconstructive surgery here. Couldn’t save your eye. And you’ll probably have an impressive scar.” He sighs and turns to see Zaeed watching him. “Which I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Zaeed smirks, but says nothing, green eye blinking quickly. Hackett takes in Zaeed’s face, the lines at his brow, brown hair sticking up at all angles through the gauze. _What if_ — He squashes the thought for the thousandth time. Theirs is a tricky romance, if one could even call it that. Barely in the same place at the same time. Unusual perhaps in their casualness when apart, and intense togetherness when they are together. That Steven cares for Zaeed more than he probably should is a given. That Zaeed returns that feeling has always been more than a bit of a surprise. And now, as Zaeed’s face softens and he lifts his hand slightly from the bed, curling his fingers and saying “C’mere,” Steven Hackett’s heart beats heavily in his chest with the thought of _what if._

“Just get your ass over here, Steven,” Zaeed says when Hackett hesitates, his voice exasperated and fond. “I’m sorry, alright? Sorry I scared you. Sorry I got shot. Sorry I didn’t listen to you and get out sooner. Sorry Vido’s still alive.” He scowls and his voice becomes stronger. “Not that that goddamn bastard is gonna live that much longer if I have anything to say on the matter. Come on. Get over here and kiss me proper.”

Hackett sighs and sags down on the bed, taking Zaeed’s hand in his. Zaeed turns the gentle touch into a firm grip, tugging at him until he’s nearly laying on Zaeed’s chest. He rests his hand on Zaeed’s undamaged cheek, thumb brushing over his unshaven jaw. “Just...don’t do that again, Massani.”

“Roger that, Commander.” His smile pulls Hackett even closer until their lips meet, softer this time, neither of them in any hurry to end the kiss. Eventually their lips part, but only enough for Steven to ghost his lips over Zaeed’s chin, up to his cheek to press a kiss to his one good eye.

“The Alliance will take you back, you know,” Hackett says before he can rethink the thought, but Zaeed shakes his head and won’t let him finish.

“You and I both know that’s a mistake.” Zaeed’s fingers card through Hackett’s buzzed hair. “Military life is just a little too...stifling for my sorry ass.”

Hackett sighs and sits up. “I know. I still have to ask. At least then I’d know where your sorry ass is more times than not.”

“Golly, Commander. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Yeah, well. You better get used to it. I get to coddle your sorry ass for the next couple weeks while you recuperate.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“That’s exactly what the kids are calling it these days,” he stands and reaches down to move the duffle on the floor to the chair next to the bed. “Brought you some things. Datapad with books. Change of clothes.”

“Where’s Jessie?”

“My place. No guns in the hospital, dumbass.”

“She’s not just a gun—”

Hackett rolls his eyes and steps backward. “I’ll be back later. And don’t think you can just sneak off. The nurses all know not to trust you.”

Zaeed grunts and then grins. “You promised me two weeks of _coddling my ass_. Where else would I dream of going?”

Hackett flips him off as he leaves, the door swinging quietly behind him.

“Do I get to _coddle your ass_ , too?” Zaeed shouts from behind the door.

Hackett smirks and resists the urge to return and kiss the living daylights out of Zaeed. There will be time for that later. Probably not enough time. Probably Zaeed will leave before he’s fully healed and most certainly in the dead of night. Skulking off to save them both from the good-bye’s neither of them seems to want to say. Probably Zaeed will send him a note to where he’s landed. Probably it will take him half a year to do so. 

As he taps the elevator button, he tries not to think about too much of that. _Que sera sera_ , his grandmother used to sing. Whatever will be, will be. And that goes doubly so whenever Zaeed Massani is concerned.

Even so, there are more _‘What If’s’_ spinning around in his brain than Hackett knows what to do with.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
